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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27609895">A Story About Time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/pseuds/Control_Room'>Control_Room</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The W-lly Franks Twins [40]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bendy and the Ink Machine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Acceptance, Discussion, Family, Found Family, Gen, Guitars, Healthy Relationships, Love, Morally Ambiguous Character, Murder, Trust, and the web of kindness that they can weave, back stories, being a millenial amiright, comfortable, human connection, soft, stories, the way humans imprint on one another, wage slavery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:15:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,000</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27609895</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/pseuds/Control_Room</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Willy wants to know about Shawn's guitar, and if the story he told about it has any verity.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Willy Franks/Shawn Flynn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The W-lly Franks Twins [40]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1016235</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Past</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Willy tuned Shawn’s guitar-- the guitar he never played, but was proud of owning. He had beaten the hell out of someone who had gone on the wrong side of him with their own guitar and then claimed it for himself. He assured Willy that they did not need the guitar, and was not even any good at playing it. Willy played it himself a few times for Shawn’s happiness, as the Irishman would smile and sigh in reminiscing, then would turn on the radio to take Willy’s hands and dance around with him for a little. As they would twirl, the girls would watch and giggle, clapping for them and attracting quite the crowd consisting of Wally, Sammy, and Thomas, Airgead’s tail thumping along happily. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As they lay in bed together, Willy rolled over to look at Shawn, who was gradually falling into the void of sleep. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me the truth about your guitar,” he bantered jokingly. “Ya didn’t really beat someone up over it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I did,” he mumbled. “But I’ll tell you how exactly he crossed me some other time, mhuirnín. It’s not important right now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Willy blinked and settled back against the bed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Does it have ta do with your shady past?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmm. Mhm.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Really now?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, Wills, it does. And, er, maybe don’t talk about it right now. I don’t really wanna stir up any demons before bed.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, bastard Irishman,” Willy smiled, and kissed his cheek, feeling through the tension that was released that Shawn was smiling too. “Good night. I love ya.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Love ya, too.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Early Autumn. A young man with hair over his eyes and part of his cheek strummed on the street, singing his heart out, and a few people tossed a few coins into the case, and he would always smile and bow and thank them in rhythm, praising their graciousness. Shawn had a good month, and he jingled his pockets to see the man’s reaction, watching for truth or false. His head turned to see the source, and there was not greed; just desperation. The shade of hair was familiar to Shawn, and he put in a dollar more than he would have. The man’s eyes went wide behind those waves, and Shawn blinked, surely he was not that boy. Still, he hardly had a moment to think as the man had dropped to his knee and thanked him with an entirely new tune, one that brought a smile to his face with the irish jauntiness to it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He went to the hotel he was staying at, and settled into a cushioned chair, picking up a newspaper and lighting a cigar that he did not smoke, just allowing the expensive tobacco to burn. He was about to retire for the night, when in came that self same blue haired boy. Shawn pretended he did not see him, and the man looked too worried and devastated, a drastic shift from when he had been playing for his livelihood.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn silently followed him and watched him enter a back room. He pressed his ear to the door to listen. He would not let anything happen to this kid-- not after watching his uncle leave another to their fate. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“L-look, sir, I can’t pay you back today, hardly anyone gave--” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not asking for excuses. You either pay through cash, or pay through other means.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I-- please, please, give me one day, one day, today wasn’t a good day--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen, kid,” his host lowered his fork and knife to better glare at the lanky trembling teenager. “You’re my busker, and that means if you don’t get enough through street performing in the day, </span>
  <em>
    <span>then you do it at night.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Now get the hell out and back on the street, and don’t you dare lose that guitar.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yessir,” the other managed to say, and--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“--that’s all for today,” Shawn became silent from his recount. Willy snapped out of the story and pleaded, enjoying it. “Come on, that was hardly anything.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s all for today,” Shawn repeated, more firmly, holding his morning coffee in an equally firm hand. “It’s all I’m willin’ to say for today, Willy. The rest can be another time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, alright,” Willy pouted, but he let himself smile. “But I’ll hold you to it.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*** </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Willy played the guitar again after work, wondering what the soft spoken young man could have done to earn Shawn’s fury. Would it turn out that the man who kicked him out was in the right and this one was really the villain? There rarely was a story that would catch his eye or ear, yet this was one that grasped him by his very soul. He attributed it to Shawn’s excellent storytelling skills. Still, he was dying to hear the rest, and Mirror was just as curious. Mirror normally did not care much for stories at all, but this one had the promise of a beating and that was enough for him. Willy had a hunch about who this was about, but it was possible that would change. After all, Sammy’s favorite instrument was not the guitar, but the banjo, and he did not recall the man ever working on the street. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn came in and saw him with the instrument, settling himself on the couch to listen, clapping politely and happily when he finished the melody. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I take it you wanna hear the rest of the story?” Shawn asked, getting up from the couch, reaching for and taking his apron from its hook by the kitchen door. “Is that why you’ve been buzzin’ about that lil’ thing for the past three days?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s only been two,” Willy corrected, and then continued, “But hell yeah I do!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well yer gonna have to wait,” he told him. Willy groaned long and aloud. “‘Til after dinner, love!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, I thought ya were gonna leave me hangin’ for another day,” Willy smiled in relief. “It’s a killer hook you’ve got with that story.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Glad you like it,” Shawn smiled. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Present</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Shawn merrily whistled as he walked to work, crumbling tobacco between his fingers, never having liked the taste, only the smell. He had just woken up, and made pancakes for the girls, and walked them to school, kissing each of their foreheads before turning about and heading towards the studio. Music filled his heart, bringing a smile to his lips, eyes bright as he put it to notes with a short exhale. Shawn was a man who never was want of money, and made sure that those around him were aware that he was well off on his own, himself and all his cousins, and stated it as a message so that no one should worry for them. Joey worried anyways, for monetary reasons and otherwise. However, Shawn knew that such anxiety was simply in the man’s nature, and so he did not mind. Shawn paid most of the bills for land and water, and was meticulous in his self accounting, exacting the precise amount spent each month and how much was saved, though he never </span>
  <em>
    <span>worried</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Those frequent checks were for his own relaxation, a sip of the past, and a savory treat of how good the present was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And at the present, he entered the building, Jack smiling at him and tipping his hat, Susie blowing him a kiss, and dancing a small jig with Johnny; man, that was the life. Laughing and joking around with Kim as they worked, his thoughts constantly went to Willy, whom he had last seen the night before when they shared a bedtime tea, and he could not wait to see him again. Shawn knew that Willy liked going to work early, and well, it made for a treat for Shawn when he would come in. It was a lovely meet once they would take a break together and chat about how their days were going so far. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had already met his quota of dolls for the day, and knowing that Drew was prone to giving out bonuses, he continued on while waiting for a time that Willy would be done as well. In all honesty, thinking about Joey brought a strange flavor to his mind-- some sort of an umami sensation simmering in his thoughts. It was, however, a pleasant taste, like most things and people that Joey surrounded himself with, the odd wistfulness of day’s past touching so lightly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knew he remembered. They were not so old. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shawn followed the young man out into the street, making sure to keep a distance. The boy visibly shook as he looked around, looking for a safe place to stay and play it, shirking away from the lamps, even as the sun was beginning to set. Shawn settled himself on a bench not too far away, watching him carefully from the corner of his eye, pretending to read a book. The kid gave up and found a store with a light that would last him a little longer than the sunset, and began strumming. If Shawn earlier thought he was playing with his whole soul, now he was playing with heart, soul, mind, and prayers. His voice carried through the street, bouncing and baleful. There was fear in his tone. Soon, the sun set, and after, the store closed, and Shawn watched him lower his guitar in those last remaining lights of dusk. The boy checked his boot and Shawn saw the flash of a knife. He tossed it in his palm, debating something, and then slipped it back within, and moved to be haloed under the streetlamp. He had luck attracting a crowd there, however, they were an unsavory sort that Shawn did not particularly like. The kid made sure to keep his foot on the guitar case, if only to prevent </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> from being stolen. Shawn moved closer, pretending to be a part of the crowd. One of the guys pushed him to get a better view, and he gutted him while no one was looking, afterwards rolling him with his foot into a gutter. He saw the boy’s red eyes on him, glinting in fear, then a strange notice of recognition. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another person slipped over to the kid, and tried to cozy up to him, enticingly fingering bills that poked out of his pocket, but he stubbornly shook his shoulders to literally shrug the man off. Shawn moved closer, just in case, and it was a good thing that he did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can’t be leavin’ me on a cliffhanger again!” Willy groaned as Shawn became quiet. Shawn simply smiled as he sipped his tonic, the bitter taste just fine with his sweet love next to him. “You were jus’ getting to the good part! Why was it a good thing you got closer to him? Was he about to pick a fight with someone? Was he gonna pass out? Was he gonna stab his boss’ back?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Glad to see the fact that I jabbed a guy in the stomach doesn’t turn yours,” Shawn remarked, grinning wider behind the mug. Willy frowned and could find nothing to say to that, and instead leaned over and kissed him once. “If ya wanna hear the rest of that story yer gonna have to give me a few more of those sweet lil’ kisses, Willy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shawn, you’re a rascal,” the janitor huffed, getting up from the chaise lounge and kissing him softly just one more time. “I’ve gotta head back to work, darlin’, but I’ll see you at lunch, yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely,” Shawn smiled, and cupped his face so that he could kiss both his cheeks. “I love ya a lot, mhuirnín.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love ya a lot, too, ya bastard Irishman,” Willy kissed his fingers and pressed them to Shawn’s lips. “Work hard, work happy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shawn was proud to be given the opportunity to do so. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He saw Joey walk across the floor, almost a distance away, but the man’s height shortened it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They looked at each other.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Joey smiled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shawn returned it. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Future</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They invited Dr. Stein and Mr. Drew over for dinner; Shawn did not say why he requested it, but they came, and together, the adults set up a table for the kids and Henry revealed that he had taken part in making the meal with Shawn, to Willy’s surprise. Joey and Shawn communicated rapidly through sign, and even though both Shawn’s husband and Joey’s fiance were adept at the language, they spoke in some kind that neither had ever seen before. Johan seemed anxious and worried, Shawn soothing and encouraging. What Willy could understand was Shawn telling him that they would go over the start of the story again quickly, which Willy actually was grateful for; it was always nice to get a fresh recap of a tale. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Henry seemed to have gathered the same, or perhaps he knew what they were saying without understanding, since it was possible that he planned that with Shawn to begin with while the two organically gaelic sourced folk cooked. Willy dropped a couple droplets of lavender into his tea, letting the bergamot and earl grey merge with the aroma, bringing a delightfully calming aura into the air. Willy smiled as he watched Joey relax even as the smell grew stronger. Soon they were at the table, laughing, chatting, and the necessity of consuming. The kids had finished eating far faster than the men (Linda and Marina having vanished within five minutes), and Gonner offered to take them to the playground built near the willow tree, which the parents happily allowed, thanking her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shawn leaned back and lit a cigar, setting it on the side, not smoking it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Joey was petting Airgead, the dog having chosen him to sit upon. Airgead was not a small dog, but he still looked rather like a puppy compared to Johan. It made Shawn smile-- both Airgead’s regular size juxtaposed to Joey’s gigantism, and the fact that Joey was near a dog at all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The kid shrugged off another man who got a bit too close for comfort, but his efforts were useless. As a many headed serpent, each time he moved from one, there was another. His voice was a bit strained as he tried to continue singing, yet those around him were willing to pay more for a different service rather than his songs. A group of four came over to the musician, and he looked at them with a neutral expression on face, panic running through his eyes. Shawn flicked open his knife, shoulders raising and knees bending. One man grabbed his guitar, another the case, a third his arm, and the last around his middle, not heeding any of his protests. Shawn spotted a tattoo on one of their necks, and he knew exactly who he was dealing with-- and judging by the boy’s reaction, he knew as well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shawn was not stupid. Their peace with the Drew mafia was rocky at best. If he attacked immediately, then both he and the kid would be done for. Instead he drew back into the crowd, and waited. The four lead him to the very same hotel that Shawn was in, and he frowned as they brought him back to the room where he had met with his ‘boss’, though in Shawn’s eyes, trafficker would be a better term. Especially now witnessing what was happening through a slit in the curtain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You p-promised you wouldn’t turn me in to them, y-you promised!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I promised, sure, but promises are words,” the man leaned back, shrugging. “For a while I could keep that promise because you were bringing in a bigger revenue than the reward on you. But lately, not so much, and your value decreased even more when you refused the bedroom job.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One of the guys stepped out, and the moment he closed the door, Shawn smiled at him from where it had been, and stabbed him right in the neck, cutting his voice box. He dumped the body into a closet, returning to make sure the kid was still untouched. To his relief, he was given space, to his disgust, he was being made to plead for something that could not happen. Even if the man changed his mind then, it was too late. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shawn threw a plate at a window. Two of the other men went out to look, and he took care of both with a quick backstab into the heart. That left two inside. Shawn stepped into the office and dispatched the mafia member by throwing his knife into his eye, the man crumpling down without a sound, but the blue haired man screamed in fear and shock. Shawn took the guitar while the boss tried to load his pistol, and slammed it onto his head. To his surprise, it did not break, and Shawn whooped him with his rage and the instrument until he was out cold. Wiping his brow, he lifted his eyes to see Joey hiding in the corner in anxiety. Shawn smiled at him and extended a hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Been a while since I’ve seen you, Jo,” he remarked while helping him up. Joey blinked, and Shawn felt the air in his lungs jump when a hug wrapped around his middle. He smiled and hugged back. “Let’s get ye somewhere safe, aye?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m trying t-to get to NYC,” the teen managed to say, muffled. “Start new th-there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got a few cousins quartered there,” Shawn told him. “They might be able to help.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That… that would be n-nice,” the boy shivered, and the man sighed, “That… that would seem correct.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you two knew each other before the studio?” Willy asked, processing. Joey nodded, and Shawn added, “Not just before the studio. When we were kids, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s… wow.” Henry shook his head in disbelief. “That’s a little crazy. I wouldn’t really believe it if it wasn’t for the proof of that guitar. And Joey’s word.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What, is mine not good enough?” Shawn complained.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Quite frankly, no,” Henry replied. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>and with this chapter i hit 750,000 words on ao3 :3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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